At 3:00pm Eastern on Monday afternoon in a lawyer’s office, I will officially become the owner of my a little farm house and 10 acres.

Past the well house and up the hill, picture a timberframe with a second-story deck.

I am nearly faint with the idea.

728 square feet of house and 435,600 square feet of land. Mine. To love and to clean and to build.

I have much work to do; fortunately, my father is giddy with the dream, too. We talk of pole barns and path ways. Yesterday, he talked about the big boulders at the top of the property that we can use to landscape.

I imagine where alpacas will be, and Dad and I are already scoping out the right kind of fencing to protect pygmy goats from bears. An English bulldog and some Great Pyrenees looks to be imminent.

I’m eager to make this my writing place – secluded, quiet, full. I am also anxious to make this farm into a place where writers and musicians can come and rest. Give a reading in the outdoor amphitheater I will build; play a concert from the front porch. Eat good, local food. Drink craft beer and wine from the surrounding breweries and wineries near by. Talk late into the night by a fire.

For now, though, there are papers to sign and A LOT of grass to mow. But this dream, the one I’ve carried softly in cupped hands for more than 10 years, it’s real.

What dream of yours do you wish most to make real?